The queer thing known as Love
by JeanBlaze
Summary: A two-shot fic on Sherlock's emotions during his encounter with Irene Adler and how he copes with them.
1. Part 1

He was beyond infuriated – first he was made to leave his cozy Baker Street apartment in the wee hours of morning (well according to him anyway, but he knew John would beg to differ) and then being told in the Buckingham Palace by none other than his pompous brother that he had an anonymous client just ticked him off. But seeing the pictures of Irene Adler tugged an unfamiliar feeling inside Sherlock Holmes – something that was new and foreign to him.

He knew the affair was simple; he knew it would be taken care of in a matter of minutes. But what puzzled him was his eagerness for this case – he was never excited about such a simple investigation before! Little did the world's only consulting detective know that his seemingly innocent curiosity was sowing the seed for something he wasn't ready to digest just yet.

**XXX**

Sherlock Holmes was puzzled. A naked woman had never alarmed him – but when Irene Adler walked in proudly into the room in her birthday suit, he felt the entire world around him go still. He just stared as she waltzed in and proceeded to sit on his lap, making a conscious effort NOT to look anywhere else but her face. He thought it would be easy to do so – after all he was never interested in trivial matters like sex. Imagine his surprise when there was this slight, naughty thought tugging the back of his mind - his eyes yearned to wander over her slight curves, his hands longed to touch the smooth, velvety skin… unknowingly he took note of her desirable measurements and locked them away in one of the infinite grooves in his mind palace.

Just when he began to lose himself oh so slightly in his mischievous fantasy, his faithful medical friend walked in, breaking the trance. His conscious, calculative mind was thankful for this interruption – he could finally get to work on something useful. 'Calm yourself Sherlock,' he told his confused mind, 'don't behave like John… you're here to observe, not see.'

Irene Adler positioned herself on the opposite side of the room. He continued to observe her as she perched herself on the sofa in a manner which left some of her attractive body to the imagination. He kept looking for the slightest muscle movement, the tiniest frown – but to his immense surprise, he couldn't read anything. Sherlock's mind swam around as he tried harder and harder to see anything about Irene Adler – but the longer he looked, the more confused he got. 'How is it possible for her to fool me!?' Then there was this other emotion in the deep recesses of his mind… something that was not Sherlock Holmes' regular cup of tea – awe.

Sherlock Holmes was in awe of this woman who was able to defy his observing eyes… who stood before so him defiantly, challenging his every move. His awe for her grew even more when he found out that she had sneakily hid a gun in the safe where she kept her camera phone.

Then there was satisfaction, this woman was smart, but not smart enough to beat him… or so he thought. He could have quietly left the house, handed over the camera phone to his brother and close the case. But he couldn't help but succumb to this little dancing thought in his mind – the thought of showing-off and impressing her. And when he did, he cherished the look of shock and amazement on her face. He had seen that look on other people before, but seeing it on her countenance gave Sherlock an immense satisfaction he couldn't exactly place.

But his satisfaction was short lived when she unexpectedly drugged him and took the phone from him. His ever alert senses did not see her coming. As he slipped into unconsciousness a wide range of emotions which he kept so carefully wrapped up surfaced – anger at being 'beaten', frustration for not seeing her coming, shame for being so helpless and the most of all – again, awe and amazement at this woman's intelligence and cunning mind.

His vision began to blur and he could hear John calling out his name, his voice laced with concern, but none of that registered in Sherlock's mind – all he could think of was that Irene Adler was just any woman… she was THE woman.

**XXX**

** A/N: This is my first Sherlock fic, hope you guys liked it. I know I'm 2 years late to put up a story like this, but I was watching the episode again for the millionth time and I couldn't help but write this. I'll put up the next and final part soon – in the next couple of days mostly. Do review ****  
Until the next update, Ciao! **


	2. Part 2

"And that is the 20th… I think…"

"How very like you John… observing things that are of little importance…" he retorted.

John just chuckled in reply, which annoyed him even more. What annoyed him even more was this nagging urge in his head to correct John – it was the 21st not the 20th. He unlocked his phone, reprimanding himself for being so curious about The Woman's text. _'You look sexy on Crimewatch' _she said. Sherlock stared at it for a while, trying to run his hyperactive brain for a witty reply – but he couldn't think of one.

He set his phone down angrily and pouted; he, the one and only Sherlock Holmes didn't have a comeback! He could always spit out comments that would make his darling older brother's perfect hair curl. Then why couldn't he say something to _her_. 'Sentiment…' a small, long forgotten voice said from the deep recesses in his mind. 'Codswallop!' he told himself. 'Nope' the small voice answered back, stronger this time, 'It's because someone acknowledges you for who you are instead of telling you to sod off…'

Sherlock couldn't argue with himself – he knew it was true! Wasn't it the bitterness of always being rejected by the world that made him make the decision to not care? One would object, saying that even Dr. John Watson acknowledged Sherlock Holmes for the genius that he was, but the acknowledgement from Irene Adler was different. How was it different, he himself didn't know, but for the first time in a long time, Sherlock Holmes decided to let things go with the flow…

**XXX**

And then everything came crashing down. When Sherlock saw the text from her, he knew – he knew something terrible had happened. His fears only grew worse when he saw the unnamed present on the mantelpiece – a present perfectly wrapped with crimson gift paper and complete with a bow. He knew it was from her; he could never forget the crimson color of her lips even if he wanted to.

He went into his bedroom without uttering a single word and opened the present as carefully as he could with his trembling hands. He knew what he would find her camera phone inside it, but still, he hoped – yes, Sherlock Holmes hoped that he was wrong. Alas, he wasn't.

But he had to know for sure – he didn't mind calling his condescending brother if he had to, but he had to know. He needed to know, he was desperate to know – to know whether Irene Adler was truly dead.

And then, there was no turning back. There was no turning back when saw the curvy figure lying on cold marble in the Bart's morgue. It took all of Sherlock's immense self-control not to look away from the bashed in face. When Molly Hooper unveiled the rest of the body, it didn't take Sherlock long to recognize her – it was exactly the way he remembered it.

Emptiness creeped into Sherlock's heart… yes… his heart, as he walked out of the Bartholomew hospital. The woman, THE woman was gone and Sherlock Holmes didn't know how to react. He sat staring out into space for hours together, thinking about the torrent of emotions running through his otherwise calm, organized mind – vast emptiness, anger… a sharp, piercing sensation, which he deduced using the crap telly John and Mrs. H made him watch as reference, as pain.

Pain was something new to Sherlock Holmes. After a lot of thought, he decided that it was extremely unpleasant. It blinded him, suffocated him to a point where he couldn't focus on anything. He knew he needed to clear his head, but he didn't know how. It was then he saw it – his violin, lying on the dinner table amidst all his scientific paraphernalia, inviting him to play. "Just playing won't be enough…" he told himself quietly, his hands gliding over the taught strings.

He went near the window – his favorite spot for playing – he took a deep breath to calm his racing mind. He focused on the smell of her cologne, the crimson of her lipstick, her smooth seductive voice and without his knowledge his hands began moving in sync with his thoughts.

He had found a way to relieve his pain.

**XXX**

And then the pain was replaced a feeling that engulfed his every other thought, which suffocated him more than the pain of loss – the joy of redemption. He had followed John out of Baker Street like he did always when he thought Mycroft was carting off his best friend. Little did he know that he would see her again…

First, it was her voice. It was too faint for him to know what she was saying. Then, soon enough, he saw her, Irene Adler, as perfect as Sherlock could remember, standing a few feet away. Sherlock refused to believe it was her that he saw; preferring to lull himself into thinking it was a hallucination. But message tone of his phone pulled him back to reality, the tone she set when she took his coat. It reverberated throughout the empty Battersea Power Station, alerting John and Irene of his presence.

But before they both could make a move, Sherlock left as swiftly as he came. He wasn't ready to face her just yet – his mind was too confused. It was her he saw on the marble slab on Christmas night… then how… how was she right before his eyes just moments ago? Sherlock Holmes was bamboozled… so much that it took him a while to realize that the woman… THE woman… had fooled him again.

And for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was happy that he had been beaten.

**XXX**

Sherlock Holmes had a smug smile on his face when he handed Irene Adler the duplicate of her phone he had made. He had been very thorough with it – he had been on it for six months after all! And then, being the brilliant dominatrix that she was, she saw through his entire plan – again. "Oh you're rather good!" he said. "You're not that bad…" she replied, hint of her tease twinkling in her eyes.

Even though he lost one chance to impress her, he jumped on the opportunity she presented him – the picture of the fragment of email she got from an M.O.D official. As he sat down on a chair, his eyes focused on the tiny picture, he could feel her breath on his neck – and that was incentive enough. His mind whirred to life like never before; Sherlock Holmes had never felt so alive, so charged in his life like he did in those few seconds.

He felt exhausted when he finished deciphering it, but the look of pure amazement and awe on her face made him feel it was all worth it. Sherlock Holmes drank it all in – her eyes wide with amazement, her mouth slightly open, completely speechless. "I would have you right here on this table till you beg for mercy twice" she said, her voiced laced with desire. "I don't beg for mercy" he replied. "Twice" she said, her eyes not leaving his even for a second.

And a part of Sherlock Holmes wanted her to try.

**XXX**

He had been lost in thought for a while – something John said had struck his head and he had been on it since. When broke out of his trance, he found her sitting right in front of him. It alarmed him a little – he thought he was talking to John the whole time.

"Have you ever had anyone?" she asked, her eyes fixed on him, as if in a trance herself. He was taken aback. "I don't understand" he replied as coolly as he could, trying to hide his surprise. "I'll be delicate then…" she said and in one smooth movement she was right next to him. "Let's have dinner" she said, placing her left hand on his right. "Why?" "You might be hungry." "I'm not." "Good! Let's have dinner"

This triggered Sherlock's curiosity – he had never been so close to her before. He wondered what his presence would do to her. "Why… would I want to have dinner…" he said, gently moving closer to her so that he could feel her breath on his face, "If I'm not hungry…" he finished, looking closely at her eyes. "Oh Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world…" she said, moving even closer, "If it was the very last night… would you have dinner with me?"

What he saw amused him, but before he could make a comment, their little moment was interrupted. She moved away as quickly as she came close and Sherlock was a little relieved – it was situation in which he didn't know what the final outcome was; he hated being in a position like that.

But at the same time, he wished it could have lasted a little bit longer.

**XXX**

_'One lonely naïve man desperate to show-off… and a woman clever enough to make him feel special…'_

'_Not you junior, you're done now…'_

These lines echoed in Sherlock's head, rang like a church bell on Christmas Eve. He refused to believe his brother's accusations, but as he sat in one of the posh government flats in Belgravia, the entire plot unrevealed right in front of his eyes – the reason she introduced herself to him, the reason she orchestrated her death, the reason why she left the phone with him for six months… the reason why she came to him for help – it was all crystal clear now.

She was using him, right from the beginning… and Sherlock Holmes felt hurt. He didn't quite understand why, he wasn't sentimental after all. But this incident made him question his own heart – was he as insensitive as he claimed to be? Maybe not… after all, he did – even if it was for just a while – feel important, like somebody wanted him not just to solve cases – but just wanted his company. She was playing a game… and he had been fool enough to fall for it.

"Jim Moriarty sends his love… he didn't even ask for anything, I think he just likes to cause trouble; now that's my kind of man…" she said which jolted Sherlock out his slumber. _'I'll burn the heart out of you…'_ Moriarty told those to him not very long ago… and here he was – his heart being played.

Anger raised its ugly head like a dragon awakening from deep sleep – how had Sherlock not seen this coming? Sherlock was furious with himself for letting himself go in the flow of the emotions he had chosen to stay away from. Mycroft was right; he had been naïve… he should have listened to his head.

Which is exactly what he intended to do now.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side" he said, surprising Irene Adler. Sherlock knew that she wouldn't see him coming this time – and finally he would have the pleasure of having the last say. She had let herself go in the river of emotions as well… he knew that when took her pulse earlier that evening.

Just to prove it again, he moved closer to her, whispering into her ears – and to his amusement, her pulse was elevated again… suddenly… it was all so clear. She wouldn't walk away with all that she worked for with a random number as the passcode… it was her heart… "And you should never let it rule your head…" he said, boring into her frightened eyes as he pressed the digits to the passcode slowly.

He knew what he was about to do would ruin her, it pained him, hurt him that the one woman he ever fancied would be lost to him… but he could let himself in this position again. "I've always assumed that love was a dangerous disadvantage," he said, fighting to keep his voice from cracking, fighting to keep his eyes dry, "Thank you for the final proof…"

Handing the unlocked phone over to his brother, Sherlock didn't waste a single second to walk out of the door, but her broken voice stopped him right in his tracks – she was crying. He couldn't face her, not after what he had just done… he need didn't to turn around to know that tears were rolling down her perfect cheeks… but it hurt… hurt too much.

Inspite of it all, he gathered his courage to look at her one last time – he knew this could be his last time seeing her. He took note of everything; the tear stained face, the frightened innocent eyes, the crimson lips… "Sorry about dinner…" was all Sherlock Holmes could manage before he stormed out of the room, careful not to let her see the one solitary tear that had chosen to disobey his commands.

**XXX**

When John reluctantly handed over the phone, thinking that Sherlock was heart-broken, he couldn't help but smile. He got up and scrolled right through all the messages she had ever sent him and read the last one – _Goodbye Mr. Holmes._

With a fond smile, he relived the moment when he found her kneeling down in front of him, sending her last message, preparing herself for the afterlife, the surprise in her face when his phone rang and she realized he was there right next to her. He remembered the happiness in her eyes when he saved her life from the terrorists and helped her set up a completely new identity – a new life far, far away.

Sherlock couldn't convince his heart to leave her alone, and surprisingly… his mind agreed to it as well. He would have moved heaven and earth, if that's what it took, to save Irene Adler. He let out a satisfied chuckle as he recalled the memory of their final goodbye – the warmth of the hug… the tenderness of the kiss…

"The woman…" he said, safely keeping the camera phone which began it all. And then… as though correcting himself, he whispered softly, "THE Woman…"

**XXX**

**A/N: Feels so good to finally complete this fic… I was beginning to worry that the idea would slip out of my mind.**

**Inspiration for this came from the instrumental called "Sherlocked" from the BBC Original Soundtrack for Sherlock Series 2. (It's beautiful… you guys just have to listen to it!)**

**Thanks for reading the fic… I had a field time writing this one… hope you guys enjoyed it as well **

**Until the next fic… Ciao! ;) **


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